by Georgie Lee
“Good evening, Miss Stuart,” a familiar voice came from behind her. With so many other riders prancing up and down the row, she hadn’t noticed anyone approaching her. She gripped the reins tightly as Lord Woodcliff brought his horse up next to hers. “May I join you?”
“You may, though I think you’ll find me a poor riding companion.” Her horse lowered its head to enjoy a dandelion growing along the edge of the path where the dirt met the grass. She tugged hard on the reins in an attempt to raise the horse’s head but the animal ignored her and continued grazing.
“He only needs a little guidance to behave.” Edward clicked his horse into motion and Charlotte’s gelding raised its head and fell obediently in step beside Lord Woodcliff’s mount.
Charlotte wondered which she preferred more, the large beast standing still, or the large beast walking slowly down the road? She noticed John falling behind to a discreet distance and her unease increased. “John, don’t you wish to ride closer?”
“No, miss, for a fine bit of horseflesh like Lord Woodcliff’s will give my Roland a scare.”
Charlotte frowned, suspecting her aunt’s hand in John’s sudden desire to dawdle. He was an excellent horseman whose skills had proven instrumental in their escape from Paris. Charlotte knew he could handle a gentle horse like Roland no matter whose mount was near. But, as John refused to venture closer, Charlotte turned her attention back to the company at hand.
“A fine evening, don’t you think?” Lord Woodcliff remarked.
“Indeed.” Charlotte gripped the reins as the gelding increased its pace to keep up with Lord Woodcliff’s horse. Seeing her struggle, he slowed his horse, returning them both to a comfortable speed.
Silence settled between them as they guided their horses past other ladies and gentlemen riding and enjoying the fine spring air. A gentle breeze ruffled the hem of Charlotte’s blue velvet habit and she caught Lord Woodcliff admiring the outline of her legs from the corner of his eye.
She examined him as well, careful not to be too obvious. He wore a sable colored riding coat with a matching beaver hat, both of which added to the confidence he exuded in the saddle. It was mesmerizing, so much so she almost forgot her determination to put an end to this flirtation. She twisted the reins around her fingers, mulling over a hundred different ways to inform him of her intention not to marry. However, for every neat phrase her mind devised, her tongue remained silent.
“Miss Stuart, I must apologize for my behavior this morning. I was gravely mistaken regarding your intimacy with Lord Marston,” Lord Woodcliff ventured, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he’d ridden up beside her.
“Yes, my aunt suspected as much.” After Lord Woodcliff’s abrupt departure, Aunt Mary had searched for answers to his sudden change in behavior. When she’d suggested Lord Woodcliff might have misunderstood the reason for Lord Marston’s visit, Charlotte had grasped at the hope. It was, unbeknownst to the older lady, what had allowed Aunt Mary to convince Charlotte to ride this evening. “I was sorry to see you leave. I would’ve liked to have discussed physicians for your family seat.”
“I, as well.” This was no smug lord facing her from across the tea table, but the man she’d danced with at Almack’s.
She shifted in the saddle. Now was the time to tell him she possessed no interest in marriage, but she couldn’t speak. She didn’t want to end the moment, or watch him gallop away.
“Tell me of Grossmont Hall. Is it beautiful?” she asked, desperate to change the subject and draw out the pleasant ride a little longer.
“It’s a fine stone manor surrounded by woods. There’s a small village nearby where the farmers come to market. It’s dull but it has its charms.”
“More charms than London I imagine.”
“More charms but one.” He eyed her from beneath the brim of his hat, making her stiffen in the saddle.
“Tell me more about your home,” Charlotte implored, eager to move the conversation away from affection.
Lord Woodcliff described the land around his father’s estate, and she pictured herself with him in the country enjoying the pleasures of the forests and meadows. Although she heard the pounding hoof beats and the rattle of equipage, she was so lost in her daydream of walking with him on his estate, she failed to notice the danger until it was too late.
Lord Woodcliff spurred his horse forward and grabbed the gelding’s reins. The leather tightened around Charlotte’s fingers and she cried out with pain. She freed her fingers just as Lord Woodcliff yanked the reins tighter. He pulled her horse and his off the path and out of the way of the speeding phaeton driven by Lord Devonshire. The lady next to him in the high seat wasn’t Lady Devonshire but a woman Charlotte knew well from society gossip.
As the rig continued down the row, the terrified gelding attempted to rear. Charlotte grabbed the edge of her saddle as Lord Woodcliff jerked the reins, keeping the dancing horse’s hooves firmly on the ground.
Charlotte released her grip on the leather, her nerves as tight as the horse’s as it shifted back and forth until at last it settled down in a fury of disapproving neighs.
“Are you all right? Let me see your hand.” Lord Woodcliff took her shaking right hand and pulled off her glove. He drew each of her fingers between his thumb and forefinger to check for injury. The pain vanished and a more profound trembling slipped in beneath his gentle caresses. “The glove appears to have prevented any real damage, though your fingers may be a little sore tonight.”
With one fingertip, he traced the thin red mark left on her palm by the reins. The feathery sweep of his skin against hers increased the hurried pace of her heart. She closed her hand to catch his, as eager to stop the intoxicating sensation as to hold on to it and him. He didn’t pull back, but remained linked with her, his eyes drinking her in as though he’d come close to losing something precious.
“Can you continue?” he asked as the voices of riders and the whinnies of their agitated mounts reminded them of where they were. Thankfully, the other riders were too busy recovering themselves and settling their own horses to notice Charlotte and Lord Woodcliff’s intimate exchange.
“I think so.” With reluctance she opened her fingers to release him, hating the coldness which met her palm as he pulled away.
Lord Woodcliff took the gelding’s reins and guided it back onto the path, clicking both horses into a slow walk. He handed her the reins and she took them, glad to have something to grip which kept the shock of the last few moments from knocking her off the horse.
“Lord Devonshire should know better than to drive so fast. He could’ve hurt someone,” Lord Woodcliff complained.
“It’s not just horrid of the Duke to race through Rotten Row, but to do it with his paramour by his side.” Lady Devonshire had once been renowned for her wit and beauty. Now, with her beauty faded by illness and age, her husband paraded about with his mistress. If Lady Devonshire couldn’t avoid such a fate, how could Charlotte? “How can a man be so cruel to his wife?”
“A man may also suffer at the hands of a woman,” Lord Woodcliff countered.
“A woman has more to lose from a poor choice than a man.” She opened and closed her hand, torn between her heart and her fears. It was a fool’s wager to marry and allow time to reveal the true nature of a spouse. Charlotte wouldn’t accept such a gamble. She’d followed her heart once before with the Comte and been wounded. This time she’d follow her mind. “Therefore, I’ve chosen to eliminate the choice and guarantee my future happiness by not marrying.”
She regretted the words before they’d even faded away, but there was no taking them back.
Lord Woodcliff stopped his horse, causing the gelding to halt too. “Do you have so little confidence in your own judgment?”
“No, but I know the way a man can deceive a woman, so she, no matter what her judgment, is doomed either now or ten years hence.”
“Haven’t your aunt and uncle set a better example for you?”
“They’re the minority.”
“So you intend to become a spinster out of fear some man might betray you?” Lord Woodcliff’s horse stepped back and forth feeding off his rider’s agitation. “I thought you a braver lady, Miss Stuart.”
“I’m braver than you realize. It requires a great deal of strength to withstand the opinions of others, especially men who, for the first time, find their charming words refused.”
“I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of my sex. If I knew the man who’d given it to you, I’d call him out.”
“Then call out all men, for they’ve all conspired to form my opinion.”
“Women can be just as cruel.” Lord Woodcliff walked his animal around Charlotte’s mount, his eyes never leaving hers as she turned in the saddle to watch him. “I’m sure Lady Redding has informed you of my father’s current situation?”
Charlotte nodded, ashamed to admit she listened to gossip.
“He chose for love once and he was very happy—they both were. But fate was not kind. He wasn’t as prudent in his second choice and they’ve both suffered. So have I.”
Lord Woodcliff maneuvered his horse closer to Charlotte’s so his right leg was touching the hem of her riding habit. “I’ve learned from my father’s misfortune and when I marry it will be for love and I’ll always be faithful. I know, despite all your protestations, you have feelings for me as I have for you.”
Charlotte dropped the reins in shock. Yes, she cared for him but she couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t be vulnerable or give herself up so easily. Even if he never betrayed her like the Comte, she might lose him as she’d lost her parents. She couldn’t suffer such heartache again.
He took her hand and swept the back of it with his thumb, his touch as stunning as his admission. Her reasons for not wanting him faded under the steady caress and the nearness of him.
“Don’t let your fears govern you, but be honest with yourself as I’ve been with you.”
Hyde Park disappeared as he shifted closer, his eyes heavy, his head tilted as though he meant to kiss her. She leaned toward him, her lips parted, eager for him to make her forget her past and her worries. The sharp smell of leather and sandalwood shaving soap filled her senses and her mind whirled like the night at Versailles when she’d drunk too much champagne and run through the gardens under the bright stars. She raised her face to his, her eyes closed, waiting in anticipation.
Then someone cleared his throat from behind them.
She pulled back to see John sitting atop his mount a short distance away.
He wasn’t the only one watching them.
The gravity of the situation hit her like a low branch and anger snuffed out her desire. “If you cared for me you wouldn’t try and compromise me in such a public place, for your benefit.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You did.” Just like the Comte.
“I apologize if I’ve offended you.” He jerked up straight in his saddle, bristling beneath her accusation. “It won’t happen again.”
Lord Woodcliff kicked his horse and the animal took off down the path in the direction of the phaeton, the powerful hooves ripping up small clumps of earth as he and his mount tore down Rotten Row.
Charlotte fought the urge to dig her heels into the gelding’s side and make the poor beast catch up to Lord Woodcliff. She wanted to fall into his arms, beg him to banish all her worries and fears. But she remained still as the gelding bent its head for another dandelion. If she ran after him, she’d be in his grasp and he’d know it. This fear was more terrifying than the loneliness threatening to overwhelm her.
*****
Reaching the Woodcliff mews, Edward flung the reins at the groom, dismounted, then stormed into the house. He threw open the library door and the knob hit the wall with a bang.
“So all is not well with the young lady?” His father remarked without looking up from his book.
“She says she has no intention of marrying.” Edward paced in front of his father. “The woman is impossible.”
George snapped his book shut. “Preposterous. Every woman plans to marry.”
“Not this one. She’d rather be an ape leader than risk being betrayed by her husband.”
“And you’d betray her?”
“Of course not, I love her.” The realization jerked him to a halt. He shouldn’t care so deeply for her, not after the accusation she’d flung at him in Rotten Row, but he did. It made him want to bang his head against the wall in frustration. He’d been a fool to confess his feelings to such an obstinate woman or to keep chasing after her, but he couldn’t stop. When he’d held her hand, he’d felt her desire for him. He also understood why she wouldn’t admit her feelings to him or herself. The near miss with the phaeton had reminded him of how easy it was to lose a loved one. The fear and pain of loss could guide a person for years. After his mother’s death, the need to ease his suffering had driven his father into his stepmother’s conniving arms. Edward’s dread of making a similar mistake had forced him across the Channel to Europe, and now the same concern was guiding Miss Stuart’s decisions.
George rubbed his chin then fixed Edward with a pointed stare. “You’re not still pretending poverty, are you?”
“Even if I am, it has no bearing on the situation.”
“Of course it does. It gives her one less reason to trust you.” George jabbed his book at Edward. “You’re a fool for not telling her the truth.”
His father was right. It was probably the reason she’d accused him of trying to compromise her in public, though her accusation wasn’t entirely without merit. He’d tried to kiss her because he’d wanted to and he’d thought it would draw out her regard for him. He pressed his knuckles to his hips. It would take more than charming words, tender caresses, or even the truth of his situation to overcome her deep rooted concerns, and his. “I want her to love me for who I am, not my money.”
“Money would make it easier.”
It would, but then he’d never be sure which had helped her overcome her objections. If she’d give him a chance, spent time with him instead of running away, she’d realize how happy they could be together. If they both let down their guards and were honest with one another, it would make all the difference. It had during their time at Almack’s and again today before the reckless Duke had ruined everything. Edward was willing to try. It was convincing Miss Stuart to do the same which seemed impossible.
“If the woman won’t have you, then find another,” George mumbled, thumbing the pages of his book. “No point wagering everything on this one if she’s too stubborn to appreciate you, rich or poor.”
“A wager.” Edward snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Why didn’t I think of it before?”
“Think of what?” George slammed his book shut.
“I know how to win Miss Stuart but I’ll need Lady Redding’s help.”
“No you don’t. You need to march over to her house and refuse to leave until she accepts you. It’s what I did with your mother. We didn’t make things so complicated in my day.”
“Miss Stuart is too headstrong for such a direct approach.” Edward regarded his father in triumph. “For Miss Out and Outer a plan is a very necessary thing.”
*****
Charlotte sat in the window seat in her room, attempting to concentrate on a medical treatise but her mind continued to wander back to her dreadful evening in Rotten Row. She wasn’t sure what concerned her more, Aunt Mary finding out about the near kiss or Lord Woodcliff declaring his feelings for her.
Charlotte abandoned her book for the window and watched a cart filled with barrels rattle by on the street below. She didn’t want him to care for her any more than she wanted to lose her heart to him, for there was still the matter of his lack of money. It made everything he’d done tonight seem like a ruse to win a rich wife, except for the honesty in his eyes. Where the Comte’s eyes had remained reserved, Lord Woodcliff’s had been eager and tender. The Comte’s words had a
lways been well measured, but Lord Woodcliff spoke with his heart. He also listened to her, not in the forced manner of the Comte, but as she’d always wished a man would.
Charlotte snapped the curtain shut and stormed to her dressing table. How foolish she’d look after all her protestations to change her mind about him. Everyone would enjoy watching her regret her words. And what of her freedom? She wasn’t ready to toss it away, not when there was still so much to be done with the hospital and the country clinic.
Charlotte picked up her quill, intending to complete one of her many unfinished letters but she couldn’t concentrate. Never in her life had she been so confused. She’d always been able to find answers to every problem—tonight every answer created a new question, until Charlotte found herself arguing in circles.
A quiet rap at the door drew her attention.
“I see you’re still awake.”Aunt Mary walked into the room and sat down on the bench. Beneath it Minnie watched with wide eyes but didn’t get up. “I’m worried about you. You hardly ate any dinner and you were very quiet this evening. It’s not like you.”
“I have a headache,” Charlotte tossed off, attempting to resume her letter.
“Nonsense, you never have headaches. Did you and Lord Woodcliff quarrel?”
She didn’t dare look at her aunt but continued to write. “No, he displayed the most ungentlemanly behavior and I dismissed him.”
“That’s not how John described it.”
She whirled to face her aunt. “You shouldn’t listen to servant’s gossip.”
“John has been with us too long for his word to be considered servant’s gossip,” Aunt Mary scoffed. “What happened between you and Lord Woodcliff?”
“We didn’t quarrel.” Charlotte laid down her pen. “He declared his feelings for me, then took advantage of me.”